


stay

by olivestark



Series: Imo's summer ficathon [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Reunions, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:05:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivestark/pseuds/olivestark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya has returned to Westeros on an assassination assignment. She can't reveal herself, but old memories are hitting her hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only on A Game of Thrones, all my information of Arya and Gendry's storyline is from A Wiki of Ice and Fire.

Frozen leaves crunched under her feet. _Winter is here, I have missed the cold,_ she thought. She was cold, but it felt like home. The warm sun of Essos she had grown so used to was worlds away. Frost nipped at her fingers and nose. She smiled at memories of playing in the cold summer nights in the yard with Bran, chasing each other in the mud.

That was in the past now. She was the Cat of the Canals. _I am a faceless man now,_ she reminded herself. Her tools in her cape and death in her eyes. She was to kill Ser Bonifer Hasty then return. Nothing more. She didn’t care who he was or why someone wanted him killed. She was just the assassin. A blade and a poison dart was all she needed to take the soul out of a man.

She suddenly realized how hungry she was. She killed a rabbit yesterday morning, she had undercooked it awfully and didn’t skin it properly but it was the best she could do. She cursed the kindly man for not teaching her how to do that.

It was long into the night by the time she came across the Inn at the Crossroads. _No,_ she told herself. _It’s just an inn; the Cat of the Canals hasn’t been here before._

But she remembered it so well. The Brotherhood, Hot Pie, Gendry… they were strangers now. They were people she couldn’t leave behind no matter how hard she tried. She missed Jon, she missed her father, she even missed Sansa. She wanted to be a faceless man, she wanted to be like Jaqen; at least that’s what she thought at the beginning. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell, and she wanted her vengeance, whatever it took. That what she really wanted.

She sat in a small damp corner on her own, a single candle at her table. Not many people were in. A few musicians, drunkards, and a small group of men muttering and drinking amongst themselves. Their voices were rough and dark. She stabbed her rock hard pork helplessly with her fork and sighed. She stared at her candle, how the flame flickered and moved. She imagined herself as the flame, quick, nimble and unexpected. She smirked as she imagined killing the Queen Regent that way.

Her breath caught in her throat, a millisecond before she realized why.

_Gendry._

He was sat just a few tables away from her. She pulled her hood up quickly. Her friend. Her best friend in the whole world. She forgot who she was supposed to be. She forgot what she was supposed to be doing. She no longer cared. She clutched her chair, butterflies going crazy in her stomach and a lump forming in her throat. He was still with them, the Brotherhood, she recognized all of them. Harwin, Tom of Sevenstreams, Likely Luke…

What should she say? _Nothing,_ she told herself. _You left them a long time ago._

She went back to her meat, but her face was burning. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since she ran off. Their memories hit her like an avalanche and her eyes started to swell. _Not this. Not now._

She wanted to desperately to run over to him and throw her arms around him, to cry into his neck and never let him go. But she couldn’t. No one could know who she was and why she was here. She would be killed. Maybe the Brotherhood had changed… _Trust no one._

He didn’t see her. He had his back to her but she’d recognize him anywhere.

A wave of panic came over her when the group stood up and started to pick up their things to leave. She wanted to scream at them not to go. Her heart beat faster and she felt sick. _They can’t leave. Stay. Don’t say anything, Arya._

But it was instinct that stood her up and made her run towards the door. And before she could get her head around what she was doing she shouted:

“WAIT! GENDRY!”

His head shot round at the sound of her voice and they stared at each other, helpless and desperate, yet relieved.

“Arya.”

 

* * *

 

They sat on a damp rock on the outskirts of the forest. Arya was scratching at it with a stone, making shapes as Gendry watched her.

“Where did you go?”

She bit her lip. “Around. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He smirked. “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of things that would surprise even the bravest of knights.”

“Showing off, are you? Think you’re so tough now you’re an outlaw?” she teased.

“If your head gets any bigger, it’ll fall of your shoulders. I’m a knight now remember?”

“What did I say? Show off.” She was smiling now. He gave her a shove. She pushed him off the rock and pinned him on the damp floor, straddling him and laughing. “I’ve learnt lots of things in the past years, don’t test me unless you want your throat slit.”

“Get off!” She did so.

“Defeated by a girl, Ser Gendry indeed.”

He stared at her. She was different. There was something about her that wasn’t there before. He recognized that she was no longer little Arya, his friend. But a woman. She had grown up, and although she wouldn’t tell him why, there was a new darkness in her, grown from damage. She didn’t need protecting, she never did, she was always a survivor. She would make it to the end.

He placed his hand on hers. “I missed you.” He whispered. Arya suddenly seemed sad.

“I missed you too.” She clutched his hand nervously. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I didn’t think I’d mind.”

“You’ve changed.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, like they were reading each other’s minds. They smiled at each other softly.

And then they did the only thing that felt natural. Because even with the things they’d seen, and the hell they’d been through, they felt at home with each other. Even in the unforgiving winter, they felt warm with their lips pressed against each other’s. They forgot the Brotherhood, the Faceless men, the civil war. They didn’t care. Truly. They only cared about this moment, the here and now, not thinking of consequences. They did what felt right.


End file.
